


The Adventures of Tracy Stewart and Theo Raeken

by Diary



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anachronistic, Awkwardness, Bechdel Test Pass, Catholic Character, Catholic Tracy Stewart, Character of Faith, Dreams and Nightmares, Family, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Late Night Conversations, Love Stories, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mystery Stories, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Period Typical Attitudes, Private Investigators, Pseudo-History, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slow Build, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 04:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13046247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. An early 20th century look at non-supernatural Tracy, Theo, and various others. WIP.





	The Adventures of Tracy Stewart and Theo Raeken

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

ɪ.

_“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Tracy says. “It’s the only way to make the monsters go away.”_

_Pointing the gun, she shoots._

_He gurgles blood before going stock-still, and nearby, the monsters laugh._

_She starts to run._

Panting, Tracy Stewart stares up at her ceiling.

She wonders if she should write to her cousin Leland to see if he’s still interested in buying her father’s house.

Along with the house, her father had left her the money he’d been saving for his retirement and left instructions to Mr Clarkson, a fellow lawyer friend of his, to release control of her dowry directly to her in the event of his untimely death. Along with this, she works as a fulltime secretary for Judge Hammerson, but she’s not sure if this job will last much longer. It’s not a secret Judge Hammerson was glad for the legitimate excuse her employment provided for him to recuse himself from every trial her father took part in.

Leland had made some good points about how a nice boarding house would be more practical than trying to maintain the house. There are bills for electric, gas, and water she now needs to remember to pay on time, and she’s uneasy at the thought of the plumbing failing or needing something delivered. Whenever workers or delivers came in the past, her father always made sure to be here to supervise them. Being a single woman living all alone, though, and letting strange men in-

He’d given her more than a fair price on her father’s automobile. She would have simply given it to him, in truth. Buses are so much more comfortable, and though buses require gasoline, too, they don’t require her or any other passengers to be near the horrible smelling gasoline as it’s put in.

Reclosing her eyes, she wonders what’s wrong with her.

Her father always said she’s a shy, sensible little miss and told her how much her mother must be proud of her up in heaven.

Except, when her mother died, she remembers being sad, angry, and confused. She sometimes felt everything so deeply and strongly. She definitely did not dream of killing her mother, and then, proceed to muse about financial matters.

If she weren’t afraid of possibly being committed to a sanatorium, she’d probably convince herself to go to a alienist. She’s heard there’s another term they’ve started to go by now, though, she doesn’t remember what it is, and apparently, they’ve helped keep numerous people _out_ of sanatoriums, but it’s not a risk she’s willing to take.

Grabbing her rosary and slipping out of bed, she kneels down. “Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, I beseech thee, help me properly mourn for my father like a good daughter, the way you mourned for your son, our saviour, like a good mother. In your name, I pray to God almighty. Please, Blessed Mother, make me worthy for Him to hear my prayers.”

…

Digging an apple and pocketknife out of his pockets, Theo Raeken cuts a few slices and offers them to the police horse standing outside the house trailer he uses for his office.

The horse accepts, and he pets its nose. “You know that, by accepting this bribe, you’re agreeing to be my alibi for whatever your partner’s here to question me about, right?”

Snorting, the horse noses at his pocket.

“I should have gotten your promise before I gave you the bribe. Rookie mistake, huh? Well, all the same, I’m not going to dig myself deeper by increasing what’s been established as a bribe.”

Letting out a huffy breath, the horse turns its attention to a nearby fly.

Laughing, Theo goes inside. “Sheriff Stilinski. You have a very honourable partner.”

“Mister Raeken.”

They shake hands, and Theo gestures to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Please, make yourself comfortable. To what do I owe this visit?”

Picking up the hat he sat on one of the chairs, Sheriff John Stilinski sits and places it on his lap. “For once, I know you didn’t have anything to do with this, and so, I was wondering if you might be able to help us.”

Leaning back in his chair, Theo responds, “Well, this is new. What’s going on, sheriff?”

“Last night, someone broke into Judge Drake Hammerson’s office and stole two-hundred dollars from his personal safe. He’s- weary about having police talking to his staff and looking into his cases. Your name was recommended.”

“If it was your partner out there, I owe the rest of my apple before you go. I’m guessing the judge doesn’t trust banks, but after the crash, who can blame him? Anything else? Files? Jewellery?”

“No.”

“Clean or messy?”

“Messy. A blunt instrument, likely a hammer, was used to break the safe’s lock. His filing cabinet was still securely locked, and nothing appears to be missing. There was no jewellery.”

“I’m not trying to imply anything, but I’m sure there have been women besides his wife who’ve had legitimate reason to be in his chambers. Is he absolutely sure all possible jewellery is accounted for?”

The sheriff sighs. “He has a mistress out-of-town. He’s never risked bringing her near the courthouse. He has a secretary, but she’s a lawyer’s little gal and a Catholic, to boot.”

“What was the method of entry?”

“Now, that, that was clean. A janitor had a family emergency and admitted to not checking to make sure all the doors were locked. Whoever just walked straight in.”

Theo nods. “I’d be happy to help, but aware I’m not doing myself any favours, what made you rule me out?”

Scoffing, Sheriff Stilinski answers, “Two-hundred bucks was taken, and the files were untouched. I can believe too easily for comfort, son, that you’d go after a judge’s files, but I’m not sure, if you were literally starving, you’d stoop to stealing money.”

“If I were starving, maybe, but I’d just take the entire safe with me. Are you doing prints?”

“No. With all the people he’s had in his chambers, even if we could track them all down and separate them from any unidentified prints, there’s no guarantee we’d ever find the person or persons matching those. And even then, there’s a possibility they might not be the guilty party.”

“I’ll go over this afternoon, talk to the judge, look around.”

“Thank you.” The sheriff stands, and Theo follows suit. “If you can help with this, I’ll see if I can get you monetarily compensated beyond your standard fee.”

“Thanks.” Theo tosses the apple to him. “For your partner.”

Chuckling, the sheriff puts his hat on and leaves.

…

Tracy’s job starts at nine, but her father used to wake her up at seven-thirty to have breakfast with him. Now, she relies on his alarm clock, and this only furthers her thoughts selling the house and moving into a boarding house might be best. She might be able to find someone else to wake her up, or perhaps, boarding houses provide wake-up calls via telephone the way hotels do. A person or the ring of the phone would be preferable to the sound the alarm clock makes.

After breakfast, she showers and gets dressed.

Despite her tall stature, she’s has a modest bosom and, therefore, is able to wear a camisole rather than a bra. Choosing her navy pencil skirt and jacket with her white blouse, she matches her black pantyhose with her pumps and halo hat.

There’s a new fashion of women shaving their legs and armpits, and she hopes it quickly leaves. If she has to start wearing trousers on the weekends to avoid being socially unacceptable, she will, but she much prefers her sundresses. Besides, it’s not always easy to tell on film, but in the old silent ones, there were clearly actresses who didn’t partake in such a bizarre fashion choice.

As always, she slips her hairbrush into her tote bag before leaving. It’s made of ebony and has three vents on the back of it. When she was little, it was so heavy in her hands, she had to walk slower than normal when she got it off her mother’s dresser and brought it over to have her hair brushed.

Judge Gilbert’s secretary, Geena Wood, has been trying to convince her to get her hair bobbed, but she knows she doesn’t have the face for it. Most women with long hair put their hair up, but her mother used to say only little girls and married woman ought to wear their hair up. Short or long, virgins don’t cover their hair except to protect it from harsh weather.   

Aside from the delicate golden watch with diamonds given to her as a high school graduation present, she wears no other decorations. She’d wanted her ears pierced when she was younger, but her mother insisted she wait until she was sixteen. A year or two after her mother died, her father offered to let her get them done, but she’d said no, and when she turned sixteen, she had lost all interest in the idea.

Geena’s been teaching her to apply makeup, but she doesn’t feel comfortable enough to do it on her own, yet.

…

At the courthouse, she hears, “Tracy!”, and then, Patricia Lincoln is dragging her to the ladies’ room.

“Did Sara Beth get sick again? I was reading that-”

“Hush,” Patricia hisses.

Tracy tries not to take it personally. Patricia is Judge White’s secretary, and neither is particularly welcome in the courthouse. Tracy never thought a surname could be ironic until she met the coloured Judge White. Darker than he is, Patricia is a mulatto.

“Someone broke into your judge’s office last night.”

“Oh. Um, is Judge Hammerson okay?”

“He’s fine. He wasn’t here. Read this.”

Complying, she asks, “You’re leaving?”

“We all know who’s going to be blamed,” Patricia says. “I hope whoever did this gets struck down by hellfire.”

“We- don’t know why they did this,” she carefully points out. “As for you and Judge White, why would a judge steal from a fellow judge? And surely, you have an alibi?”

“I was out with Mitch.”

She's afraid, one of these days, she’s going to say something regretful, but for now, she manages to bite back, _Well, at least, he’s finally good for something_.

Patricia thinks everything comes down to colour, and Tracy knows this is true when it comes to a lot of people, but she can honestly say, a white man dating a mulatto isn’t her problem with Mitch.

“But of course, that isn’t going to matter. Everyone will just assume I’m in a fix. And someone finally realised that the attempting rioting wasn’t going to get Judge White gone, and they got smarter about it.”

“But you aren’t-” Trailing off, she suddenly wishes Patricia had a loving father, brother, or uncle. _Someone_ needs to go after Mitch, if he’s done this. The last thing the courthouse needs is another unmarried woman in a fix.

Patricia scoffs. “No. Your priorities are skewed, Miss Tracy Stewart.”

A few months ago, Patricia had said the same thing when Tracy had kicked one of the aforementioned rioters, and Sheriff Stilinski had seemed to agree with Patricia’s assessment, although, he was polite enough not to outright say this.

“Your resignation letter is good, Patricia. But whatever happened with the break-in, Sheriff Stilinski wouldn’t let you or Judge White be driven out on false charges. He’d sooner call down the U.S. Marshals again.”

At Patricia’s look, she'll inwardly admit, this isn’t a great argument. Sheriff Stilinski’s never said anything publicly for or against integration or segregation, and her own father thought the sheriff is sympathetic to the latter, but once the city council wrote integration into the city’s ordinances, Sheriff Stilinski has consistently enforced it. He even has a coloured deputy and a mixed secretary working at the sheriff’s station.

Despite being the one to call them down, there’s one U.S. Marshal in particular- it’s safe to say the sheriff is unlikely to ever write or make a social telephone call to him. Him coming back would be something the sheriff would accept but probably quietly regret playing a part in.

“We’ll see. I’m getting mighty tired of all this. You’d best get to Judge Hammerson’s chambers.”

Leaving, Tracy makes a stop at Judge Samson’s first.

Sara Beth Rush is kneeling next to her trashcan. “It was scary seeing your judge’s office,” she murmurs.

Kneeling down, Tracy pats her back. Thankfully, unlike her, Sara Beth did take Geena’s advice and got her hair bobbed. “Let’s go down to the kitchenette. I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thank you, Tracy.”

Getting Sara Beth settled near the kitchenette’s trashcan, she asks, “What’s going on?”

“Someone broke into Judge Hammerson’s safe and took his two-hundred dollars. A private dick is going to be on the case instead of the police.”

“That seems like a sensible action on Judge Hammerson’s part. I imagine he’ll mostly focus on men who’ve had disagreements with the judge.” Setting the tea down, she continues, “I’ve been reading a fashion magazine one of my neighbour’s loaned me. It has a bit of everything, makeup tips, maternity tricks, and even some interviews with film actresses. One of the articles talked about how high heels could literally cause nausea and other unpleasant symptoms in certain women. I really think you ought to switch to flats, Sara Beth, for a bit.”

Sara Beth lets out a small laugh. “And how long is for a bit?”

Tracy squeezes her hand. “I’ll take the magazine to the library this weekend and have it copied. You can read it next Monday.”

Nodding, Sara Beth sips her tea. “Thank you, Tracy. You’re a true friend. You’d better get to work. I’ll head back in a few minutes.”

…

After dropping off a bottle of soda water to Sara Beth, she brings Judge Hammerson’s lunch in and finds a man sitting at her desk.

“Ah, Tracy, thank you. This is Mister Theo Raeken, a private investigator.”

Bobbing her head, she greets, “Sir,” and goes to set the lunch on Judge Hammerson’s desk.

She’s seen a few noir films, and this man, she imagines, if they were in colour, he’d largely resemble the dickies she’s seen on screen. He’s about an inch taller than her and strongly built with sandy-blond hair and pale, green eyes. His old-fashioned suit is neat but well-worn, his shoes don’t fit right, and he seems to have misplaced his hat. Hopefully, he forgot it somewhere with an honest person who’ll care for it until he realises it’s missing or who can alert him to come get it soon.

“Have your lunch while you talk to him, Tracy.”

“Yes, your honour.”

She offers her hand. “Tracy Stewart.”

He shakes it. “Please, sit down, Miss Stewart.”

Grabbing a cup from by the water cooler, she does, and when he leans against the wall, she wonders if he’s not sitting to make her uncomfortable. Removing the wax paper, she pours some of her soup into the cup and offers it to him.

There’s a brief reaction in his eyes, but it’s too brief for her to decipher. “No, thank you.”

As she begins to eat, he asks, “What do you know about what happened last night, Miss Stewart?”

“Someone broke into Judge Hammerson’s office and stole two-hundred dollars from him.”

“Did you know Judge Hammerson had the two-hundred dollars?”

“I know that Judge Hammerson doesn’t trust banks. I don’t know how much he money he has or that he kept any in his office.”

“I’ve heard your father is a lawyer.”

“Was,” she corrects. “My father joined my mother in heaven three months, two weeks, and one day ago.”

“My condolences. Unfortunately, I need to ask if you have an alibi for last night. It’s a standard part of the job.”

“I don’t. I live alone, in my father’s house.”

He nods. “Are you friendly towards Patricia Lincoln and Moses White?”

As much as she’d hoped for both of their sakes, Patricia would be wrong, she’s now worried for them. Still, saying harsh words to a strange man never did any woman any good.

“Miss Lincoln and I are friends, yes. I’d hope I never came across as friendly with any judge, Mister Raeken. Judge White has always treated me, and to my knowledge, all the other girls with proper gentlemanly respect.”

Amusement fills his eyes. “I take it you agree with the city’s new ordinances on integration, Miss Stewart?”

“My father was part of the reason those ordinances are in place. He started fighting for the poor, the disenfranchised, and the desperate who made mistakes when he was nine-years-old and never stopped.”

She isn’t sure how her mother felt, but she is sure her mother loved her father. She can remember sitting on the kitchen floor as her mother fixed dinner, and even then, she knew her mother was uneasy. When coloured or Mexican men or shockingly dressed women came over for dinner, however, her mother was just as friendly and warm as her father. It was she who sometimes caused problems; the people mistook her shyness for disagreement at their presence.

A few times, her father had clients sleep in their guestroom, and her mother insisted she sleep in bed with her and him rather than her own room. After her mother died, she doesn’t think he ever had anymore non-family overnight guests, though, she does know he rented hotel rooms and occasionally worked something out with boarding houses on behalf of clients.

“Who do you think might have stolen from Judge Hammerson?”

She finishes her lunch. “Judges make many people unhappy, Mister Raeken. It could be almost any man in Beacon Hills.”

“I suppose. Have a nice day, Miss Stewart. Oh, and could you direct me to where Mister White works?”

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Judge White’s chambers."

…

After Tracy’s left, Moses and Theo hug. “It’s good to see you again, Moses.”

“I’d say the same, but it looks like you’re making friends as always, Theo. What did you do to little Miss Tracy? She’s one of the sweetest secretaries here.”

“You and your secretary have a friend in her,” Theo answers. “Speaking of, I hate to ask-”

“It wasn’t Patricia, and we both know I can crack any lock and relock it in twenty seconds.”

“I still say fifty,” Theo teases. Sitting down, he grins.

Shaking his head, Moses sits, too. “A cheat would.”

“Do you know who did?”

“No. I hope whoever did had a damn good reason. Patricia’s more-or-less decided to go back to Mississippi, give up her whole future.”

“Serious question: What good reason could there be?”

“Desperation. Beacon Hills’s homeless population is growing. A white man can find a thousand reasons not to hire a minority, no matter what the law says. White children take after their mama and daddy and make it clear their little coloured and mulatto classmates aren’t welcome. You have three drops of not-white blood and get caught or even just accused of committing a crime, and you’re liable to spend the rest of your life doing time.”

“You have a point, but I don’t think it was,” Theo says.

“What are you thinking?”

“If it’s a coincidence, it’s a big one that whoever did this the night the janitor had a family emergency.”

Moses sighs. “If you’re thinking Miss Tracy, it wasn’t. More than being sweet, she’s the nervous type who wouldn’t dare go against any rules.”

“Really? I didn’t get that impression. But I also don’t think it was her. Do you think it’s more likely to be a man or woman?”

“A woman with a hammer?” Moses scoffs.

“Do you know for sure it was a hammer?”

“Yep. Not that the police bothered asking. ‘Unidentified blunt instrument’ is what they’re calling it.”

“Just because you got lucky-”

“No, you got lucky that I caught you. If I hadn’t, it wouldn’t have been long before the police would’ve.”

“That doesn’t make you the better- it doesn’t make you better at lock picking and breaking-and-entering.”

“Well, if I ever did, I never got caught.”

Theo laughs. “There’s not much I’m grateful for, but that’s one of them.”

“If anyone here is responsible, I’m not accusing them, but I’d advise you to take a good look at the twins. Aiden and Ethan, two boys with some German last name I can’t pronounce. Aiden drives Judge Gardner around, and Ethan’s a greasemonkey at ATS. Besides this, the only way to tell them apart is Aiden’s left-handed.”

“Do you think they’re desperate?”

“I think they’re little delinquents. Aiden’s the ringleader, and no, I’m not holding his being a lefty against him. They raised hell until the sheriff got them sorted out. For the time. Now, Aiden’s got his eye on some girl, I don’t know who, but it’s not Miss Tracy. How Ethan feels about this, I can’t say. I get the feeling Ethan might be an okay kid if not for his brother.”

“Have they given you trouble?”

“They were part of the rioters.”

Theo sighs.

…      

The next day, Tracy finds out Sara Beth has called in sick.

“Your honour, after I bring lunch, could I go take some medicine to Sara Beth? I’ve gotten the flu shot, so, it should be safe.”

“Miss Rush has the flu?”

“She called in sick today, sir.”

“Go ahead, but you can’t do this every day she’s sick.”

“I understand. Thank you, your honour.”

…

Sara Beth’s landlady, Alice Paslay, is an older woman with cataracts. “Sara Beth’s been taking up the hallway bathroom all day and night lately.”

“I’m sure she’ll be better soon, Mrs Paslay.”

“Don’t stay for too long, Miss Stewart. I won’t have any of my tenants getting in the habit of staying during the day and socialising with their friends while they do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

In Sara Beth’s room, she’s lying on her bed with the shades closed and the trashcan near her.

“Hi, Sara Beth. I brought you some medicine and soup. And some more soda water.”

“I can’t do this.”

Sitting down on the floor and leaning against Sara Beth’s hope chest, she moves Sara Beth's hair out of her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s a doctor who can help. I’m going to see him soon. And then, it’ll all be better.”

“Wouldn’t- a woman who knows about these sorts of things be better?”

“There aren’t any women like that around here,” Sara Beth quietly says.

She imagines, if there were, they wouldn’t charge whatever high price this doctor is charging.

“I hope it will be all okay,” she offers. “The flu can last for up to a month, you know. Maybe even more. But you’re strong and healthy. Hopefully, it won’t take you that long to recover.”

…

“Tracy, I need you to deliver some files to Mister Raeken.”

She wishes she could protest. It’s not her job to run errands, and doing this is going to set her other work behind.

Except, she doesn’t know how easily she could get another job if she does end up losing this one, and she can’t afford to lose it by giving the judge any actual reason to fire her.

“Yes, Judge Hammerson,” she answers as politely as possible.

…

The small house trailer is out in the middle of nowhere, and she’s suddenly glad Judge Hammerson insisted she take a cab.

He answers on the first knock, and she knows she’s blushing at his smile. She wishes she were the type to turn pale when she did, but unfortunately, she’s the type who can match a tomato.

“Miss Stewart. Please, come in. I would have thought the judge would send an errand boy.”

It’d be nice if the courthouse would get some, is her thought on the matter. If they did, secretaries wouldn’t have to do this sort of work.

Glancing around, she’s relieved to see this is purely an office. There’s his desk and chair, two more chairs, an icebox, some cabinets, a coffeemaker, and a door leading to what she assumes is a restroom. There isn’t a bed or even a couch.

He takes the files. “Since you’re here, I have a few more questions for you. Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” They sit, and she asks, “You still haven’t found your hat?”

“Never wear one,” he dismissively says.

She knows she shouldn’t stare. There are plenty of fashions she’s been slow to adopt and a fair number she’s simply ignored until they went away, but men have been wearing hats for centuries, she’s sure, and plenty of women still do, too. Even those delinquent twins both wear sharp hats.

“Judge Moses mentioned there was rioting a few months ago. Were you there when it happened?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In fact, according to Sheriff Stilinski, there was an incident with you, wasn’t there?”

She nods. “I needed Judge White’s signature on something, and one of the men was in between us. I slipped my foot under his pants leg so that I wouldn’t get the pants dirty and nudged him to let him know I needed by. It must of surprised him, though, and he lost his balance.”

He gives her a sceptical look, and she can’t imagine why he wouldn’t believe her. Despite despairing over her seeming lack of priorities, no one until now has ever disbelieved her.

“And the fact he was a rioter threatening the judge didn’t play a part?”

“I wasn’t exactly aware a riot was going on, Mister Raeken. I thought the courthouse was just more rowdy than normal. I don’t expect most men to understand a clerical secretary’s responsibilities, but if I hadn’t gotten Judge White’s signature, my job performance would have come into question. It’s common for us girls to tap one another’s shoulder when we need by instead of talking aloud, but with my hands full, I couldn’t do that.”

“Of course,” he dryly replies. “Anyway, I’ve gotten everyone but Miss Rush and Miss Lincoln’s alibi. Should I even bother?”

“They both frequently go on dates, and Patricia was on a date the night of the burglary with a man named Mitch O’Quinn.” Before she realises she’s about to, she’s admits, “I don’t like him.”

His eyes take on a shade of interest. “Really? Since you don’t strike me as the type to discriminate against the Irish, is that where your pro-integration stance ends?”

What bothers her most is the fact rather than sounding smug or disapproving, he sounds almost sympathetic.

“No. Before I learned the political reasons why segregation was a betrayal of everything our country should be, I always found it silly that some people liked or disliked people based on colour. It’d be sort of like me not liking one classmate because she’s a blonde and liking another because she has beautiful red hair. Their hair wouldn’t tell me whether they were nice or not.”

“Mister O’Quinn comes from a good family, but he’s a no-good louse. Patricia deserves a man who can offer her so much more. If she found someone better, I wouldn’t care if he were white, coloured, or something else.”

“There’s a difference between liking someone and two people in a romance,” he points out.

She shrugs. “It might be the Catholic in me, but God put people on this earth to love and learn from one another. Two people in love, assuming they aren’t doing anyone wrong, is a part of His plan. I imagine the souls, not the bodies holding them, are more important.”

“Until children come. Has your friend had a good life, being a mulatto?”

She wonders what she’s doing. She usually never gets into discussions such as these. As much as she agrees with her father’s actions, she’s not like him.

“More than once, my father said to people, ‘Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority share in it. Likewise, right is right even if no one is doing it.’ I’m sorry for the suffering those children endure, but there’s nothing wrong with them or what their parents did. Society is wrong, and I like to believe, that eventually, society always makes progress towards rightness.”

He sighs. “Right. Thank you for the files, Miss Stewart.”

Standing, he picks up his empty soda bottle.

Remembering seeing a recycling bin outside, she offers, “I’ll drop that in the recycling bin.”

“Thank you.” He hands it to her, and picking up the files, he asks, “Do you need to call a cab?”

“There’s one waiting outside. Judge Hammerson gave me enough fare to have him wait.”

She watches him put the files in one of the cabinets, and the clerk in her winces. When he can’t get it closed, she sets the bottle back down. “If you’ll allow me. We have a tricky cabinet down at the courthouse.”

Giving her an amused look, he sits down.

Repressing a smile when she easily gets it closed, she turns, starts to pick up the bottle, and finds herself stumbling.

On the positive side, the bottle is still safely on the desk.

Oh, sweet Mary, she’s in a man’s lap. This is nothing like her father or when she sat in Billy Nelson’s lap on the grade school bus. Mister Raeken has an undeniably masculine smell, and he’s warm, strong, and solid underneath her, and his eyes are even more beautiful than she realised.

Oh, Holy Mary, Mother of God, runs through her head.

“I’m sorry,” she _squeaks_ , and until now, she’s never had any objections whatsoever to the Church’s condemnation of suicide.

Laughing, he helps her get stood up on her feet, and his hands are just as noticeable as the rest of him. “No need for you to apologise, Miss Stewart. Are you okay?”

Grabbing the bottle, she nods and quickly walks out.

…

Waking up, Tracy stares at the ceiling.

It wasn’t her father she killed this time. She’s not sure who it was.

Whether it’s worse or not, she’s more unsettled by Theo Raeken’s appearance after she killed the person. The things they did- Even married women wouldn’t do such things, never mind take so much pleasure-

Her body is craving him and those things in a way it never has before. She’s only kissed one man, but she’s wanted to kiss others before. Ever since finding out exactly what causes pregnancy, she’s secretly yearned to do such a thing with several different men in the past.

But it’s never been this strong, this vivid, and- it wasn’t that particular act. If the dream had lasted, it probably would have happened, too, but-

Getting out of bed with a shiver, she kneels down, positions her rosary, and starts praying, “Holy Mary, Mother of God…”

…

In Sheriff Stilinski’s office, Theo asks, “What’s the best way to start a rumour?”

“Why,” is the sheriff’s only response.

“Desperation. We both know people often make more mistakes trying to cover up their crimes than they do committing it. If it got out that, for whatever reason, Judge Hammerson’s bills were marked-” He leans back.

“It could work,” the sheriff acknowledges.

…

After work, Tracy goes to Sara’s Beth.

Lying with a hot water bottle on her stomach, Sara Beth gives her a weak smile, but thankfully, she no longer looks as pasty as she has been. “I saw the doctor. It didn’t hurt hardly at all. I should be back to work soon.”

“Good." She sits down. “Have you heard the latest gossip about Judge Hammerson’s case?”

Giving her a weary look, Sara Beth shakes her head.

“They’re trying to make it out that the bills were marked. It’s desperation on their part. Assuming the person hasn’t spent them, they can see if they are or not, and get rid of them if they are. Of course, even if the bills have been spent, as long as whoever did it doesn’t get desperate themselves and just ignores the gossip, they should be fine. My father told me some of his clients, it wasn’t them committing the crime that got them caught, it was not leaving well enough alone after they’d already gotten away.”

Sara Beth sighs. “Thanks for telling me, Tracy.”

…

Sara Beth comes to work the next day, and she’s as bubbly and pleasant as usual. She eats her regular lunch, and aside from Tracy needing to make an emergency stop to a nearby drugstore and distract Patricia’s questions of why Sara Beth isn’t using a tampon like usual, everything is back to normal.

She's working on sorting Judge Hammerson’s mail when she hears Patricia yelling.

Going down to Judge White’s chambers, she finds the two in a glaring match.

“Excuse me? Is there something I could do to help?”

Judge White gives her a soft smile. “This one,” he looks at Patricia, “has alerted the whole building, hasn’t she?”

“You say no woman can ever be a judge, but I reckon I’m smarter than you.”

She wonders if she interject with the information there have been a few women judges, and in fact, they have one down in Saratoga right now.

“A coloured woman has no business going down to-”

“I ain’t the one they want to string up.”

“Don’t use the word ‘ain’t’, Patricia.”

“You and your schooling,” Patricia mutters.

“Tell me again how you’re the smarter one.”

“Tell me again how you haven’t said before that smart and being able to read and write aren’t always the same thing.”

She knocks on the door. “Um, Patricia has a point, Judge White. You have said that before. And with respect to both of you, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for either of you to go- where exactly needs to be gone?”

“Judge Fool here needs some files from that Raeken investigator.”

Biting down the urge to excuse herself and go back to the safety of her desk, she takes a steadying breath. “I could go. I’ve been there before, and again, it’s probably not that safe for either of you.”

“That’s mighty sweet of you, Miss Tracy, but we’d both fare better than you.”

“The last time I went, Mister Raeken was very gentlemanly. I could take a cab to and back.”

…

Mister Raeken opens the door with his tie undone and his sleeves rolled up. “Oh, Moses didn’t call to say he was sending you.”

She bites her tongue. Hopefully, he’ll refrain from calling Judge White ‘boy’ or worse, but she has her doubts.

“Come in. I’ll get them.”

Inside, a shaky dog stares at her.

“Don’t mind Gretchen. She’s been under a lot of stress lately.”

Kneeling down, Tracy studies her. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“Oh, I don’t. This weekend, I plan to drive her to Saratoga’s no-kill shelter.”

“Who hurt her?”

He looks over.

Being careful not to get her hands near the dog, she motions. “Someone put a cigarette or cigar out on her, didn’t they? I’ve seen it on people.”

“It doesn’t matter. They won’t again.”

“Do you know if she’s housetrained?”

He kneels down, and Gretchen stops shaking and curls up against him. “Are you interested?”

“I have a friend who might be. She lives in a boarding house that allows pets. Do you know how she does around other dogs? There aren’t any cats there.”

“No. If your friend can come down here before Saturday-” He offers.

“If it’s okay with you and she’ll let me, I could take her to my friend tonight. We could see how they do together.”

He studies her. “Does your friend’s boarding house have a telephone?”

She nods. “I’ll be happy to give you the number, but please, don’t call after eight.”

…

Opening the door, Sara Beth smiles when she sees Gretchen. “Oh, did you get a dog?”

“No. Please, take her.”

Taking the trembling dog, Sara Beth sits down. “Hello, honeybunch. You’re safe. My name’s Sara Beth. Has anyone given you a name, yet?”

Gretchen’s trembling slightly decreases.

“It’s Gretchen. I’m not exactly sure if she was legally obtained, but someone was hurting her, and Theo Raeken was planning to drive her to a shelter in Saratoga this weekend.”

“Does Mister Raeken have a phone?”

“I gave him the boarding house’s number. If you and Gretchen do okay together, you can keep her.”

“Oh, thank you, Tracy!”

She sees Gretchen isn’t perturbed at all by the sudden rise in Sara Beth’s voice.

…

Mrs Paslay takes an immediate liking to Gretchen, and thus, agrees Theo can come over for lunch to talk to Sara Beth and see for himself how Gretchen’s doing.

When he arrives, she says, “Men aren’t allowed upstairs. Gretchen and Sara Beth will be down soon. I hope you like chicken curry.”

“That sounds and smells delicious.”

“Are you wearing a hat, young man?”

“No, ma’am. I was always taught to take my hat off when I came inside a building.”

“Good,” she approvingly says.

Sara Beth and Gretchen come down, and wagging her tail, Gretchen goes over to rub against Theo’s leg.

Laughing, he kneels down and pets her.

“It’s nice of you to come see her, Mister Raeken,” Sara Beth cheerfully says. “She’s been having some trouble sleeping, but I’ve found playing a few minutes of Beethoven helps. Jenny in 209 has all his records.”

Soon, the humans sit down at the table to eat.

“You’re a detective, I’ve heard, correct?” Mrs Paslay inquires.

“A private investigator, ma’am. I’m working on finding out who stole Judge Hammerson’s money and vandalised his office.”

A pained smile crosses Sara Beth’s face. “Mrs Paslay loves detective novels, especially Sherlock Holmes. I’ve told her, though, real private investigators’ jobs are often quite different. How long have you had Gretchen, Mister Raeken?”

“Not very long. You’re right. Whereas, Sherlock Holmes and those such as Miss Marple often encounter interesting people and sometimes find themselves on thrilling adventures, my job is often a lot of paperwork and other boring things, as well as time-consuming. It’s not ideal for spending enough time with a pet.”

“Still, it’s important,” Mrs Paslay says. “I can’t imagine what monster would steal from a judge. None of us are safe. What if poor Sara Beth here had run into the criminal that night?”

“I doubt that would have happened. Have you ever had any pets, Mister Raeken? I had several growing up, and Mrs Paslay, why, she grew up on a farm.”

Before Mrs Paslay can respond, Theo responds, “Unfortunately, I was never allowed to have pets growing up. From what I’ve heard from Miss Stewart, I can’t imagine any burglar would be able to break into this house, Mrs Paslay.”

Mrs Paslay preens, and Sara Beth looks desperately at her watch. “True, but Sara Beth here has recently gotten over quite a nasty case of the flu. So independent, that very night, she insisted on going out to get some medicine. Thankfully, she made it back unharmed, though, I still say that Mister Johnson should have gone out and brought them here for me to deliver up to her.”

“Hiram and I aren’t seeing one another anymore, Mrs Paslay.”

“I’d heard you’ve been sick recently, Miss Rush. I’m glad you’re doing better. As far as I know, Gretchen’s perfectly healthy, but you might want to take her to the vet soon. If you decide you aren’t up to taking care of her, I’d appreciate you returning her to me.”

“Of course,” Sara Beth says. “And don’t worry. My cousin’s a vet, and I plan to take Gretchen next weekend.”

“I didn’t grow up on a farm, but my mother did. What was it is like for you, Mrs Paslay?”

Mrs Paslay happily answers.

…   

After lunch, Sara Beth takes Gretchen for a walk, and Theo asks, “Is there a bathroom down here?”

“Oh, yes, it’s right this way.”

Once she’s lead him to it and started clearing the table, he quietly makes his way upstairs. Finding 209, he opens several doors near it until he finds a room containing a hope chest with _Sara Beth Ruth_ carved on it.

Scanning the room, he quickly goes back downstairs.

…

At Moses White’s house, Theo clicks his tongue. “Those chili sandwiches aren’t doing any favours for your heart.”

“Boy, I’ve lived through growing up in a one-room shack, watching my freedwoman grandma die while the white descendants of her slavers got everything everyone said I could never have, and aside from death, experiencing all the dangerous a black man trying to fight segregation can be subject to. And I’ve come mighty close to it. Now, I have a home, an automobile, and God willing, a protégé who might just be this country’s first mulatto woman judge. I’m going to enjoy my chili sandwiches and cola sodas, and if they take me, better them than some racist.”

“Fair enough.” Theo picks at his cheese-and-chicken sandwich. “I know who did it.”

“Stole the money?”

“Yes.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Not legally. Yet. Give me some time, and I can.”

“There’s currently no legal obligation to report a crime in any state, and in this instance, there’s no reason you can’t withdraw from the case. Have you taken any money?”

Theo nods. “It’s not a problem. Sheriff Stilinski gave me some money for cab fare; I can repay that with a little time.”

Taking a bite and swallowing, Moses continues, “But there is an obligation for you to try to legally prove it as long as you’re on the case, and once you do, you’re obligated to tell what you’ve found. So, either prove it and take the money, or withdraw and forget about proving it. You get caught doing something illegal, you can’t use your job as an excuse.”

…

Patricia is busy arguing with one of the twins over some European case, and if Tracy were more inclined to interject herself, she’d advise Patricia not to bother. Everyone knows Patricia is even better than Judges White and Grains at remembering the details of old legal cases, and the twin is just bored and intentionally winding her up.

Instead, she says, “I’ll take Judge White his aspirin.”

Grabbing the bottle, she goes to the kitchen, fills a glass of water, and takes them to Judge White’s chambers.

He sighs. “You know Patricia usually brings me coffee.”

“And you know, sir, that coffee isn’t good for your heart.”

Chuckling, he opens the bottle and takes two. “Well, at least, you’re better than Theo. Thankfully, he won’t be coming in today. I think he’ll make an announcement about the case soon.”

Politely excusing herself, she takes the aspirin back to Patricia’s desk.

…

After work, Tracy heads to the trailer house, and knowing this is a bad idea, she largely hopes Theo Raeken won’t be there.

Seeing the lights are on, the thought, Maybe he’s just accidentally wasting electricity, is pathetic to her own mind.

She knocks, and of course, he answers.

“Miss Stewart.”

“Mister Raeken.”

“Please, come in.” He stands aside.

“You and Judge White are friends.”

He gives her a startled look. “I’m not sure if that’s an accusation or just an out-of-nowhere statement.”

“You led me to believe you were prejudiced.”

“Oh, I am. Against many things and many people, including him. Judge Moses White is stubbornly moralistic, lacks the right sort of ambition, and can be more self-righteous than I doubt you know. He and I were legitimate enemies once and might be again one day. But for right now, yes, we’re friends. Have been for years.”

Usually, her desire to stab people is restrained to her nightmares, but right now, she can see a letter opener on his desk.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“How he referred to you earlier,” she answers.

Giving her an amused, curious look, he asks, “Is that the only reason you’re here, Miss Stewart?”

“Judge White also mentioned you might be making an announcement about the case soon. Have you gotten a lead or figured out who did it?”

He studies her. “It’s best I not say right now.”

She nods. “Well, I’ll just go-”

“Are you and Miss Rush close friends, Miss Stewart?”

“Sara Beth? Um, we’re friends. She’s much more socially active than I am, but she’s always been very kind to me. When I first started working at the courthouse, there was this man who had a grudge against my father. He started harassing me after I arrived. She found out his wife’s name, found her in the telephone book, and called her down.”

She smiles at the memory.

“And while she and Patricia have butted heads on occasion, Sara Beth’s always been respectful of Judge White. I don’t know how she personally feels about integration and segregation, but she’s a largely live-and-let live type girl. It’s nice listening to her talk.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“A boyfriend? Oh, no. I don’t date. It’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with dating, it’s just- I don’t.”

She knows her face is a tomato again.

When she was younger, she tried hard to fill in her mother’s spot, but her father insisted she try to build up a social life. When she told him she wanted to be a career girl rather than focusing on getting married, he’d paid for her to go to secretarial school. She thinks he was hoping she’d soon find a nice man, marry, and give him a grandchild, but she’s never really found the motivation to try.

“Would you like me to walk you to your cab? You did take a cab, didn’t you?”

“That’d be nice, thank you.”

…

In a park near Sara Beth’s boarding house, Theo sits on a bench.

“Hello, Mister Raeken,” Sara Beth greets.

He stands, she sits, and he follows suit. “How’s Gretchen?”

“Doing wonderfully. She’s gained two pounds, and I’ve been teaching her how to fetch. She doesn’t even need Beethoven to fall asleep anymore. I’ve sent some pictures of her to be developed. When they are, I’d be happy to send you some.”

“If you do, it’d be best to do it from somewhere else,” he quietly says.

She gives him a wary look.

“I tracked down the taxi driver who drove you the night Judge Hammerson’s safe was broken into. It was decided that taking fingerprints would be useless, but the sheriff and the judge failed to consider that fingerprints _inside_ the safe- If you didn’t wear gloves, and according to the taxi driver, he doesn’t think you did.” He shrugs.

“In addition, I’ve heard you have an active social life. I wonder, if I did some more investigation, would I find if any of the court janitors are among your friends, and could you have known about the family emergency the janitor on-duty that night had? If so, that’d be easy enough to find.”

Sara Beth slumps down.

“Since I have a pretty good idea why you did it, I don’t care.” He slides an envelope over. “You have until Monday. This is enough for an out-of-town bus ticket. Take Gretchen, go somewhere else, and start over. Or don’t, and come Monday, you’ll be arrested.”

Giving him a startled look, she studies him.

Smiling wryly, he nods. “I need the fee this case will bring, Miss Rush, but I can say truthfully I don’t condemn you. Out of all the reasons I didn’t go into this business, people like you are one of the big reasons. Just so we’re clear, though, if you ever hurt Gretchen, I’ll make sure you pay. If you aren’t for taking her with her, drop her off at my office, and our deal still stands.”

She pushes the money back over. “I have enough to leave on. And my sister lives in Canaan. I’ll go there. She’ll help me find a job and let me live with her until I get back on my feet.”

“Good luck,” he says.

“Thank you, Mister Raeken.” She leaves.

…

Rummaging through the filing cabinet, Patricia says, “I can’t believe Sara Beth stole from Judge Hammerson. I wonder what on Earth would motivate such a thing.”

Making a small sound, Tracy takes a sip of her tea.

It’s all over, she tells herself. After helping Sara Beth pack, she saw her and Gretchen safely off on a bus to Canaan. Now, everything can go back to normal, and she’ll probably never come into contact with the private investigator invading her dreams again. 


End file.
